All of the things that I would've killed to hear Wallace write about . . . that will now never be written. But I did smile, while playing infinite catch-up this week, to read this bit from the Poor Tony bit on page 690:

"And then also the little-mentioned advantage to being destitute and in possession of a Health Card that's expired and not even in your name: hospitals show you a kind of inverted respect; a place like Cambridge City Hospital bows to your will not to stay; they all of a sudden defer to your subjective diagnostic knowledge of your own condition, which post-seizure condition you feel has turned the corner toward improvement: they bow to your quixotic will: it's unfortunately not a free hospital but it is a free country: they honor your wishes and compliment your mambo and say Go with God."

That's quintessential Americana right there, from the definition of "free" to the idea that you should just "Go with God." Even the sharp satire is in the style of classic American humorists: "they all of a sudden defer to your subjective diagnostic knowledge." I love it, love it, love it.

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